


Forcefields, Airplane Toilets, and Wannabe Assassins

by JAPD



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Airports, Alex doesn't find trouble, Egocentric OCs, Gen, trouble finds him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAPD/pseuds/JAPD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In SCORPIA, the airports were informed that capturing the danger, Alex Rider, was a top priority. Later, when he's detained at Heathrow while on a school trip, Alex finds out that MI6 never detracted that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forcefields, Airplane Toilets, and Wannabe Assassins

**Author's Note:**

> This is about a couple years old and my first foray into Alex Rider fanfiction, but hope you all enjoy! :) 
> 
> Also, any who have watched the 2010 movie, Faster, may notice I have borrowed some characters for this fanfic, may make more sense why the Killer is a total douche - he's that way in the film.
> 
> Without further adieu:

Force Fields, Airplane Toilets and Wannabe Assassins

"That's not good enough. Because of you I may not be allowed to take other kids on future trips again. You're spoiling it for everyone.'

Luckily Mr Charlie Grey was well liked and respected by practically all, including, most importantly, the school board. This genial acquaintance had acquitted him of any mistrust or suspicion that may have fallen his way after the Rider Incident in Venice. And so it happened that during the following school year, when Mr Grey asked for permission to take pupils on a school trip to Washington D.C. the following Easter, his request was readily accepted. The trip was set to be perfectly ordinary.

And then Tom Harris happened.

Seeing his friend withdraw into himself progressively over the school year, Tom had known he had to take action before Alex completely shrunk into his self-constructed shell. And so Tom had taken a handful of the plentiful coins his parents regularly showered over him to make up for their absence, and filled in another name next to his on the signup sheet for the USA trip.

The name? Alex Rider.

Alex's concurring absences from school had detained him from noticing his name scrawled upon the list, and from noticing Tom employing all of his amateur ninja skills to sneak into the Chelsea townhouse and retrieve Alex's passport details. Tom felt quite a sense of personal achievement at this feat; it wasn't many who could bypass the security detail of a top secret agent.

Tom conveniently chose to ignore the fact that Jack had caught him red-handed (but let him go when she learnt of his plan with a wicked smile) and the fact that said secret agent was much too preoccupied with saving the world to implement any real security measures upon his house.

But amateur ninja-ing aside, the facts were simple. Alex was going to Washington D.C. on a school trip. The only flaw was that aforementioned boy/superspy had no idea of this fact.

Tom had been planning to tell him, he really had! He had just been waiting for the right moment, that was all. And it just so happened that the 'right moment' hadn't occurred until the week before the trip.

So there Tom was, sat at a table in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the busy canteen with his best friend Alex Rider, who was currently digging into his fish and chips, oblivious to Tom who was fixatedly staring at the blond head, mouth repeatedly working open, before inevitably closing.

Tom had just managed to convince himself that Alex would not kill him, or hurt him, much, and had resolutely opened his mouth and kept it open, determined to tell Alex what he had done, damn the consequences-

And then a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Tom looked up, mouth still open. It was Mr Grey.

"Hello Tom," the friendly twinkling eyes smiled down at him. "Ah, Alex. Do you mind if you could come with me for a second?"

If possible, Tom's mouth opened even wider in shock. Oh, no. This could not be happening-

"I just want to talk about the trip."

"The trip, sir?"

"The trip to the US that you've signed up for, of course. Tom's been wonderful in filling in for you on all the meetings you've missed, but I just need you to verify your personal details face-to-face."

Tom recoiled into his seat as a burning glare was aimed his way. Shifting in his seat, he averted his eyes from the vengeful brown ones.

"Ah yes, that trip. Of course Mr Grey, I'll come with you now."

And as Alex and Mr Grey walked away, the blond head turned for a second to level a look which promised revenge at the still-cringing dark haired boy back at the table.

By the time Alex had turned back around, only the top of Tom's spiky hair was visible above the wooden surface.

Alex was going to kill him!

...

Over the week leading up to the trip, Alex made sure Tom was aware of the full consequences of going behind his back. As for Tom, he had voluntarily blanked out all memories of that week – no one should ever have to remember such traumatic experiences.

On the plane, Alex felt his best friend shudder next to him. He looked over enquiringly, but Tom's gaze was fixed out of the circular window, face pale in remembrance. Alex attempted to gain Tom's attention once more, by way of nudging, but the black-haired boy remained unmoved. With a silent shrug, Alex sank back down into the cramped airplane seat and returned to his mindless rumination.

Although he had given Tom hell for it beforehand, Alex had found the trip surprisingly...enjoyable. At first it had been exceedingly uncomfortable. Hanging around loud, noisy, oblivious schoolchildren so different from the quiet, perceptive professionalism he had been submerged in for the last year had been difficult. Luckily, the group that he was travelling with had not been any of those that loved to follow him around and croon "druggie" into his ear, and after a few initial days of adjustment, Alex had found himself...relaxing. For the first time in so long he had been able to truly be a child once more. An average British schoolboy away from home on a school trip with no cares except for messing around with his friends and checking out other female tourists. Well, that had mostly been Tom, Alex had to take the role of reining his best friend in before the various offended groups of girls decided to lynch 'the obnoxious British boy.'

Shifting in his narrow seat, Alex felt the growing need to answer nature's call – he had been on the plane for over six hours after all. Standing with a quick farewell to Tom, he strode forward towards the plane's single cramped economy toilet stall.

Only to find it was currently occupied. And there was seven disgruntled people shoved into the narrow space outside the toilet in a mockery of a queue, all waiting to use the stall.

Alex was no stranger to sub-standard conditions, the levels of sanitation in the Bangkok slum he briefly stayed in during his loan to ASIS had been difficult to endure. But endure he had had to. And maybe that was why when given the choice between this tiny toilet after several people had soiled it just before, and another toilet with better conditions, Alex immediately chose the latter.

Moving past the queue, Alex strode purposely forward into the business class section, and then a few moments later, further into the spacious first class. It hadn't been difficult, the trick was to act as if you belonged there, as if there was no reason for anyone to question your presence – and no one would. A few of the air hostesses had glanced briefly at Alex, but then looked away, eager to attend to their rich customers. The air of maturity far beyond that of any average fifteen year old boy which Alex kept cloaked around him hadn't hurt either.

Strolling deeper into the luxurious cabin, Alex glanced around for the restroom. Most would be deeply impressed by the elegance and class that surrounded them, but Alex had been the guest of far too many multi-millionaire (and multi-billionaire) criminals to appreciate the all-pervading wealth. However one sight did catch his eye.

A man and woman sat facing each other from across an engraved table in their leather recliners. The woman was a classic Californian beauty, long tanned limbs coupled with tumbling blonde locks and delicate features. A diamond the size of an eyeball rested on her ring finger. The only thing marring her beauty was her almost desperate pawing of her husband's hand in a bid for attention. He seemed unmoved to her silent solicitations, his attention already captured by his own thoughts. The man was equally as good looking as his wife, comparable to a Hollywood movie star – short dark hair, handsome tanned features and an athletic build. In fact, Alex mused as he passed the couple, maybe they were movie stars. After the tumultuous events of the past year Alex had gained a wide range of knowledge in subjects from dismantling guns blindfolded to space travel. But the contemporary celebrity knowledge his peers intimately knew? Alex hadn't a clue.

This brief speculation was abruptly cut short as a sight graced his eyes. The sign for a bathroom – a bathroom with a real, not folding, door. Alex grinned, moving at a quicker pace at the sight of his goal.

...

Alex's conjecture of the man being a movie star had been incorrect, although many had made this mistake. In fact, the handsome passenger in the first class seat happened to be a multi-millionaire computer mogul. No one would doubt that this was a very respectable public face.

But beneath that charismatic mask hid another, moodier, darker facet of his personality; a facet which was perfectly illustrated by his little known side job.

He was also an assassin, his adopted stage name being, 'The Killer.'

The Killer had suffered a terrible accident when he was young, leaving him bound to a wheelchair for the better part of his formative years. He managed to make a full recovery, but the consequences of his injury were as permanent as the deep scars on his legs. Instilled within him, within the very innermost core of his soul was a burning desire, a raging need to prove himself, to prove that he could overcome and master anything he wanted.

So he mastered the money world - he was at the top of the game in his field. He had mastered yoga, martial arts, virtually every sport he had heard of; he had conquered his body. And most recently, he had finally triumphed over the romance side of life. With his wife, who he had married within 72 hours of proposing, he believed he had mastered love.

He had mastered everything. He was successful, powerful, amazing. He had nothing left to conquer. He had conquered all.

However this total mastery had come with an unexpected side effect. The Killer had spent most of his life constantly dreaming up and putting into practice new ways to prove himself. The lack of anything to do had left a vacuum. In essence, The Killer had become bored.

Most people, when bored, will pick up a book, turn on the television, or call a friend. The Killer took a different approach to neutralizing the tedium of his days.

He became a contract killer.

A contract killer that requested the payment of merely one dollar for each hit.

If more knew this information, many would call The Killer crazy. He would disagree; after all, he had mastered everything – including his mind.

But I digress; let us take a look at what the assassin was doing on this plane…

The Killer thought over his plans as he stared at the clouds pressing in on the jet. Although his primary residence was in California, he had boarded a plane from Washington D.C. as he was required to fly out with his team to London in order to attend an international conference involving the top so called 'computer geeks' from all around the world. And did he mention it was his team? Yes, that bitch Lau had nearly been picked to lead the panel, but the delegate committee had eventually made the right decision and recognized his true superiority.

The Killer allowed a smug smirk to cross his face as he swirled his glass of champagne. He conveniently chose to ignore the fact that Lau had bowed out of the competition, informing the committee that she had a major project currently underway in her company that demanded all her attention, and she would only be able to be a part of the team, not the leader.

The Killer smiled even more widely as he remembered how perfectly his other job had slotted in with his public one.

Only a few days ago he had received a call asking him to terminate a one Miss Lau of Lau Industries. The Killer once again had to fight to restrain a mad grin from stretching across his face. It was perfect. His clients had only one contingency: she must be dead before she left Heathrow Airport, London. The Killer glanced over at where Lau was sitting on the other side of the cabin, idly playing with a Rubix cube. Turning back to the window, The Killer considered his time frames. It would be close, but he could do it.

He could do anything.

...

Alex had spent nearly three whole months without getting into any trouble. Therefore it made sense that recently he had been constantly on his tiptoes, waiting for danger to whirl him back into the storm once more. The America trip had seemed too good an opportunity for fate to miss out on; this reasoning had led to Alex being extremely high-strung during the first day or so. But the majesty of Washington D.C. and the towering power of New York had quickly wiped any lingering tension from his mind. So Alex, unconsciously, had let his guard down.

As such, he did not notice the looks leveled at him by officials when he stepped into customs. He continued laughing raucously with his friends as armed security guards subtly wove their way through the crowd towards him.

He continued to be an ordinary teenager, happy and carefree, until a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Reacting instinctively, Alex shot out, as quick as a snake, and grasped the hand directly over the pressure points. Expertly twisting, the hulking guard was forced to slam down onto the floor before his wrist snapped.

From the point at which the full grown man was smacked down upon the stone floor, a ripple was created. A ripple of silence and shock which rapidly spread outwards, soon infecting the entirety of the densely populated surrounding crowd.

Breathing heavily in sudden stillness, Alex continued to stare down at the dazed guard with an unreadable expression upon his face, the reality of what he had done slowly sinking into his consciousness. He waited, waited for an interminable volume of time for another to break the silence, the suffocating tension.

But no one did. Once again, it had all been left to Alex Rider to make the first move.

Slowly, he looked up. And immediately wished he hadn't.

Tom was staring, but his expression was one of awe and comprehension. The rest were also staring, but their expressions were much less promising. Mr Gray was gobsmacked, as was the rest of the school trip save Tom. Several onlookers were frozen in their tracks, also gazing in disbelief. And beyond them, Alex could see armed guards swiftly closing in. Inwardly groaning, the young spy lifted his hands in submission as the black-clad men completely surrounded him with their hands hovering over their guns, cutting him off from the view of the spectators.

But Alex could still hear the rising whispers as he was escorted through the curious, gossiping crowd.

This time his groan was audible.

...

Alex found himself in a small grey windowless room, its walls, ceilings and sparse furniture all overwhelmed by the same monotonous dull metal. Alex would have sighed at the tedium of it if he wasn't so irritated at the current situation. He had just been happily reflecting over the past quarter of a year's normality and then bam! He found himself sat on an uncomfortable metal chair, a man in a suit sitting silently across the table. At least Alex's pale forearms – the tan from Kenya long since faded - were able to rest upon the table surface instead of being bound behind him, which made a pleasant difference from his usual interrogations. Although if the guard standing by the door had his way Alex would no doubt be in handcuffs, the burly man was twisting the metal cuffs between his fingers in a gesture clearly meant to intimidate. But curiously enough, Alex found that the guard would not hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds before the squinting pupils would dart nervously away.

Alex was in the process of repeating this experiment for the sixth time – it was amazingly fun to watch him squirm – when a cough interrupted him. His attention swiveled to the suit in front of him who had made the noise. Alex had wondered when he would be done with his incompetent attempt at intimidation by uncomfortable silence.

"My name is Feldron. You are Alex Rider." It was spoken as a statement, not a question, so Alex assumed Feldron paused here for dramatic effect, rather than waiting for an answer.

After the allotted seconds intended to induce a buildup of tension had passed, Feldron continued. "And you are a national threat to security."

At this Alex did a double take. "What?" he asked incredulously. National threat to security? He had bloody well saved the planet several times over!

Feldron raised an eyebrow. "There is no point denying it, Rider. Since September of last year we have been charged by the intelligence services with an order to bring in the serious threat, Alex Rider, alive."

Alex's mind raced. September, September, September…brown eyes widened. September! That was when the whole mess with Scorpia had taken place, when MI6 had needed to bring him to ground, not knowing how deep into the criminal organization he was. Alex's head dropped with a sigh as he realized what must have happened. MI6 had 'forgotten' to revoke their warrant on him and so here he was, in an interrogation room deep within the bowels of Heathrow Airport with his friends and teachers flabbergasted, and no doubt even more curious. Alex scowled at MI6's 'oversight.'

Suddenly a thought occurred to him. If there had been a warrant for his arrest at the airports, why was he not detained when leaving the country?

He voiced that question out loud.

All he received in response was flushed cheeks and uncomfortable mutters side-stepping the question. Alex shook his head. Typical efficient British security. The teenager tilted his head back to stare up at the low steel ceiling. "So when are you going to contact MI6?"

In his peripheral vision, Alex saw Feldron start in surprise. Obviously he assumed Alex would try the usual protests and rites of denial. But Alex saw no use in trying to explain the situation to this man. He knew his type, convinced he was right, especially when it came to those younger than him. The type that always seemed to forget that they had once been children too. There was no use arguing, he might as well just try to get Feldron on the phone to MI6 as soon as possible so that they could take over and sort their mess out.

Alex mentally cursed the agency. Not for their supposed forgetfulness – as such a thing was utterly non-existent at MI6 – but for this cruel twisted joke they had seen fit to play on him. As if he needed to be reminded that he was wrong to recklessly run off to Scorpia and agree to be trained as an assassin!

Feldron seemed to have recovered from his shock. "I was just about to inform them now, in fact." He stood up from his chair – a chair which Alex noted looked infinitely more comfortable than his own – sweeping away out of the room with a nod at the guard and a last puzzled look at Alex.

And then he was gone.

Now it was just Alex and the guard alone in the room, Alex decided to repeat his experiment.

Yep, watching the guard's gaze twitch away for the seventh time was just as fun as the sixth.

Alex was in the process of trying for a ninth, mind numb with boredom, when the guard finally reacted. The small beady eyes narrowed in on Alex, and he stepped forward, fury evident in his eyes.

"You think you're so tough, don't you, huh? You little Scorpia bastard." The last sentence was spat out with particular venom and Alex wondered exactly how Scorpia had damaged his life. However such ruminations were not appropriate for the current situation. Alex eyed up the looming figure, noting the malevolence in his eyes and calculating the closing distance between them. Tensing, Alex prepared himself. He may be unbound, but the guard was solid muscle, as broad as he was tall. He had to lash out fast.

Alex was just about to strike. And then the lights went out.

Startled, both man and boy jumped, attention detracted from each other in favor of gazing wildly around the darkened room. Alex and the guard glanced at each other once more. The fury seemed to have drained away from the security detail with the light, leaving behind the nervousness and realization that he was alone, in the dark, with what he thought was a highly dangerous Scorpia agent. The hulking figure deliberated for a moment, but only a moment, and then with a muttered, "Don't move!" he bustled out of the room with little restrained relief.

Alex relaxed back into his chair, listening to the distant sounds of the guard disappearing down the corridor. Exhaling, he felt the adrenaline slowly leave him as he relaxed in the silent darkness. Rubbing a hand over his face, he wondered what had caused the power cut.

Alex adhered to the guard's command. Or at least he did for five minutes, until he became too curious to resist.

And so ignoring the old adage, curiosity killed the cat, he silently slipped out of the darkened room, leaving the grey metal behind in search of a new adventure.

...

Whilst Alex watched Feldron walk away, The Killer was twisting down into the depths of the airport, skillfully avoiding any roaming staff. The plan was simple.

The Killer had slipped away from the first class lounge where he and his team were being plied with champagne and caviar while waiting for their transport to arrive. Coincidentally there had apparently been some kind of disturbance in customs which was delaying their stay in the airport. This worked out perfectly in The Killer's favor, giving him even more time to carry out the first phase of his cleverly masterminded plan.

Straightening his suit, The Killer stopped in front of his destination. Using the card he had obtained via bribery of one of the guards, he pushed open the heavy metal door and slipped inside. Revealed to him was a dirty, clanking room, filled to the brim with wires and noisily whirring bulky objects. Making his way over to the centre of the haphazard area, The Killer allowed himself a smile as he pulled out his gun. In front of him was a very important looking tangle of thick cables, winding their way up to the ceiling and then branching out in every direction. The Killer took aim at it. And fired.

Instantly the bright lighting cut out, bathing the airport in darkness.

In the elegant first class lounge, the cultured customers held more restraint that the rest of the inhabitants of the airport, merely peering curiously around at the new twilight over their customized electronic devices. They quickly complied with the instructions given to them by the guards to file out into a more secure room – only cautionary measures, of course – and one who questioned the absence of three members of their party was quickly assuaged by the head guard.

The head guard's name was Oscar Shurr. Mr Shurr had the look of one fast approaching middle age, the crow's feet had appeared out of nowhere around his eyes and deep grooves were now present upon his brow. His cheap shirt was straining to keep in the growing bulge above his belt which threatened to overspill.

Oscar Shurr had been reasonably comfortable in life a few years ago. He had lived in an average priced house in an average part of London with the average married life and average 2.5 kids. Then the company his wife had worked at was forced to make cuts. She was one of the first to go. Although Oscar still earned enough for them to get by, they were forced to trade their average life for one that was feeling the strain.

And so when Oscar was approached by the suave millionaire with a simple deal, Oscar had accepted. A dusted grey moustache twitched as Oscar remembered the £10,000 in his locker. His job was surprisingly simple; all he had to do was look the other way when the businessman, his wife and another businesswoman, a Miss Lau, disappeared. That and hand over a card that only granted access to the underground rooms which housed staff facilities and the electrical mainframe, nothing important.

Mr Shurr felt his Adam's apple bob up and down as he gulped nervously. The electrical rooms. Nothing important. And now a power cut. For a brief moment, he considered telling someone of his deceit, fearful of what purposes the rich stranger had for luring another passenger away and cutting out all power to the airport. But then he remembered the money in his locker. And so without looking back, he swiftly followed the passengers and his fellow guards, refusing to think any more on the matter.

Later that very day, Mr Oscar Shurr was fired from his job.

But at this moment in time, Oscar did not know this, nor did anyone else in the airport. Not Miss Lau, who was hesitantly following the tall blonde woman who had all but dragged her to the bathroom and now after the power cut, was insisting that she knew the way to a secure room. Not Alex, who was aimlessly wondering countless darkened corridors. Not The Killer, who was waiting in the underbelly of the airport, only a few halls away from the roaming teenage superspy. Waiting for his wife to lead the little bitch to him, to the grinning jaws of the crocodile's mouth. Pulling out a knife, The Killer twirled it around his fingers. This was going to be fun.

...

Alex was getting bored of the identical deserted corridors, all life seemed to have been driven out by the pervading darkness, leaving a feeling that time had ceased here, deep in the recesses of the earth.

Alex shook his head, fair strands flying in front of his eyes. He was bordering on dramatic now. Emergency lights stationed at intervals on the floor had lit up after the power cut, but they were extremely dim, casting eerie shadows on the walls. He wished he had never left the grey interrogation room, never pursued his thrice-damned impulse which made him so valuable to MI6 and so dangerous to his own health.

Sighing, he reached the end of the corridor, deliberating for a second before decisively turning right. But he had only taken a few steps down his new route before he was forced to abruptly backtrack, hiding flat against the wall of the previous corridor.

For down the other passageway Alex had seen two mysterious figures from behind, walking away from him. Hesitantly peering round the corner, Alex ascertained that they were still facing the other way and so allowed himself to observe.

There were two women, one a fairly tall Chinese woman in a smart business suit and the other Caucasian, noticeably taller and blonde with casual clothes draped over her willowy form. This could have been a normal sight, if it hadn't been for the gun the fair-haired woman held leveled at the other. The businesswoman's choppy black hair swung with her jerky, tension-filled movements, dark eyes repeatedly flickering to the gun. Alex squinted through the darkness as he peered at the other armed woman. Wasn't she the Californian beauty he had seen in the first class area of the plane? Well whoever she was, she was clearly dangerous – the other woman needed help. And Alex couldn't ignore that.

Completely disregarding his earlier lamentations of his rash behavior, when Alex witnessed the two enter a room further down the hall Alex stealthily followed them, not thinking to alert any security to handle the problem instead.

...

The Killer's eyes were drawn to the door handle. It was turning. He smiled softly. His grin only grew wider, splitting his face in half, as the door was pushed open to reveal two darkened silhouettes framed in the doorway. And then they stepped forward – or at least one stepped forward and the other was dragged along – and their faces were illuminated by the small portable lamb the Killer had placed on the single low table at the centre of the room.

The Killer's wife was grinning as madly as her husband, pressing a gun into the other's temple, a woman known as Miss Lau. The blonde woman was breathing heavily, tongue darting out to moisten ruby lips as she stared at her victim, enraptured.

Never taking her eyes away from the grim-faced entrepreneur, she excitedly chirruped at her husband, "Oh darling, I never knew it was like this! If I had realized how good it felt, to have another completely under your control, to have the power of a god, I would have never tried to stop you from doing this!"

The Killer spared an indulgent smile at his animated wife, so different from her usual mellow demeanor. It had been amazingly useful for him to have a willing henchman for this job; The Killer looked forward to employing her services again in the future.

But speaking of the job…the dark haired man fixed his attention back upon Miss Lau, tightening his grip on the serrated knife while simultaneously bringing it up to rest near his shoulder – perfect throwing height. Lau glanced at it before staring resolutely back into the madly glinting eyes. The assassin cocked his head curiously. He had to admit, he admired her bravery. By this point most would have been quivering in their boots, begging for mercy.

...

Outside Alex was tucked just behind the open doorway, every muscle in his body tensed, adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream. The people inside were obviously crazy, Alex assumed the person the woman was speaking to was the movie star husband he had seen on the plane.

But more importantly, what the hell were the couple doing kidnapping an innocent woman and dragging her down into the deserted depths of Heathrow Airport? With a growing feeling of dread that had been rising ever since Alex saw the gun, he had a feeling he would have to add 'murder' to that list.

But he had time. These crazy criminals always followed a set routine without fail. First, capture the snooping spy (usually Alex). Then would follow a lengthy extrapolation of the criminal's mastermind, designed to instill a sense of worship into the hostage –Alex usually used this time to plot an escape. Cue the next phase, victim (Alex) escapes.

Right now the criminals inside had only just completed Phase 1, there was still the all time-consuming Phase 2 of storytelling to be executed, a time period in which Alex could think of a plan. The young spy nodded to himself, his mind already beginning to race with half-formed ideas.

It would have been a typical ending to the typical capture of a typical criminal.

But The Killer was no ordinary criminal.

Through some primal instinct Alex grasped the truth before it had even taken place. The horrifying truth that The Killer had chosen to ignore the most basic law of criminals. He had skipped out phase 2. He had moved straight for the kill.

But before the deadly whistle of the knife whipping through the air had even begun to sound; Alex had already burst through the open door. The Killer's wife was immediately distracted from her victim, her outstretched gun fell out of her hands as she darted round in shock, only to be felled by a powerful roundhouse kick from the teenage superspy.

Simultaneously, Miss Lau had taken the opportunity of the crazy blonde's distraction to flit her hand into her pocket, bringing out a small black device whilst throwing herself backwards from the oncoming knife.

If Miss Lau had pressed the button upon the device even a microsecond later, the gleaming weapon would have slit her throat.

But she was faster. She pressed the button and instantly, a blue-tinged force field erupted for barely a second in a small oval directly in front of her. It was diminutive and localized, but it was enough. The knife was vehemently repelled by the shield, it being seemingly indignant that any had tried to pierce its barrier. The Killer found himself directly in the shining weapon's path.

With a cry he reeled back in an attempt to dodge his oncoming death, barely succeeding. But in the process his swerve had knocked him off balance and he tripped over the table, legs tangling underneath him as he hit the ground hard.

He lay still.

Alex stood, panting and incredulous. Force fields! Didn't they only exist in comics?

Alex looked over at the Chinese woman who was now appraising the force field generator with a satisfied eye, apparently having completely forgotten about their unconscious company. She noticed him watching.

"I'll go and alert security!" she spoke in a chipper, excited voice. Alex stared back, bemused and speechless. The women was nearly killed and yet she was buzzing like a five year old that had just been informed they would be going to Disneyland! Alex could only stare further as she proceeded to skip out of the room, hugging the small device to her chest and frequently sparing it glances filled with the love a mother would hold for their newborn.

A groan emitted from the corner.

Alex's bewildered attention was instantly sharpened and focused, immediately honing in on the blearily stirring figure on the ground. As stealthily and quickly as a snake, the fifteen year old had darted to the contract killer's side and pinioned him down before he could move any further.

But the universe seemed determined to break all the rules today, for instead of attempting to escape, The Killer merely flopped despondently, a look of a sullen temper tantrum more suited to a young child than a full-grown man decorating his handsome features.

"It's not fair!" the grown man whined petulantly. "She cheated! I'm supposed to be assassinating her!"

It was a testatament to how incongruous the day had already been that Alex did not react any further to the man's bizarre words. Instead the teenager merely sighed disappointedly. "You're not half the assassin Yassen was."

And with a quick elbow strike, the millionaire was out cold, his career, reputation and life destroyed in an instant. But Alex was more concerned with one particular problem:

How was he going to explain this?

...

Several thousand miles away, upon a sunny beach in some exotic little known desert island, sat a sprawling mansion. Inside this mansion a leanly muscled man with cropped fair hair was perusing a well thumbed book on Japanese. The sleepy scene was utterly tranquil, the sound of the rolling waves, chirping of the brightly-colored birds and quiet flicks of a turning page being the only things that sounded in this peaceful paradise.

And then it was broken, only a small silent movement interrupted the lethargic pace, but it was enough. The pelicans held their breath, the sea ceased its movements and the book hung limp in the man's long nimble fingers.

Yassen Gregorovich cocked his head to the side, wondering for a reason to his sudden feeling that someone, somewhere was thinking or speaking of him. Someone who knew what he really was.

And then he shrugged, that easy movement releasing the tension in his surroundings and permitting the scene to transform back into its previous languid laziness.

The first-class assassin mused on why he was thinking of that world once more, he had left it all behind nearly a year ago. But perhaps, Yassen pondered, he had rested enough. Maybe it was time to remind everyone that Yassen Gregorovich was not so easily killed.

Behind the book, Yassen smiled.


End file.
